


Apt Pupil

by sparkly_butthole



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Crack, Experiments With Jam, F/M, FUBAR missions, First Time, Honeypot, M/M, Shenanigans, Warning: Some Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkly_butthole/pseuds/sparkly_butthole
Summary: Strange habits are Jake Jensen’s forte. This is not by design. Since birth, Jess has seized every opportunity available to let Jensen know how he was a black sheep in a family of black sheep. Whether that makes him a white sheep or not - which, upon reflection, makes no damn sense - doesn’t matter a lick. He wears his true colors proudly even when it gets him into trouble.This does not, in any way, mean the team finds his behavior normal. Accepting, used to it - sure. But he’s on the business end of a hairy eyeball more often than not.





	Apt Pupil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cleo4u2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/gifts).



> So... I have no excuse for this fic being over two weeks late for Cleo's birthday, but here it is! I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed your fics, which is a tall mountain to climb, but I tried. 
> 
> Oh, and you're a filthy enabler for getting me into this fandom (!!!) Let's add more to it, shall we?
> 
> Beta'ed by the lovely [Kajmere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajmere/pseuds/Kajmere), who is just the awesomest.

  
  


Strange habits are Jake Jensen’s forte. This is not by design. Since birth, Jess has seized every opportunity available to let Jensen know how he was a black sheep in a family of black sheep. Whether that makes him a white sheep or not - which, upon reflection, makes no damn sense - doesn’t matter a lick. He wears his true colors proudly even when it gets him into trouble.

 

This does not, in any way, mean the team finds his behavior normal. Accepting, used to it - sure. But he’s on the business end of a hairy eyeball more often than not. According to his fellow Losers, Jensen’s oddities consist of: 

 

  * Hacking in boxers;
  * Target practice in boxers;
  * Wrestling in boxers;
  * Pretty much living his life in boxers, which consist of a frightening array of subject matter ranging from the childish (clowns) to the sexual (one pair with literal cocks and balls) to the macabre (Deadpool and friends in a swimming pool of blood);
  * Covering all mirrors before falling asleep, even ones in separate rooms;
  * Licking the flavor from chips and popcorn before eating them;
  * Obsessively searching the guide for Spongebob even when the team has decided to watch a movie or a ballgame or _literally anything other than fucking Spongebob_ for the trillionth time;
  * Etc.



 

They’re so used to Jensen finding the biggest guy in the bar like a beacon and insulting him it doesn’t even register as a bad habit anymore. Nor does his tendency to forget his gun.

 

Strangely, the habit Jensen most likes to hide from the team is The List, which is probably the most normal thing in his repertoire. He is simultaneously attached to and ashamed of his little yellow notebook, which he keeps in his bag next to spare ammo packs, special long-range communicators, and bars of chocolate. Sure, he’ll forget his gun, but the notebook? Might as well be Cougar’s hat. And the others don’t even know he has it.

 

The List has a simple name and a simple goal: What I’ve Learned From Today’s Mission. Sometimes the meaning is literal - he’s part of a spec ops team, after all - but not always. 

 

And sometimes the lesson sticks… but not always.

 

***

 

“ _ Papi _ … I like the look of you.”

 

Jensen’s zoned out, his brilliant mind compiling lines of code because that’s just what he does when they’re out and the ladies start hitting on his teammates. He’s not smooth, he’s not suave, and he’s  _ definitely  _ nobody’s first choice. So it takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time before he realizes that yes, the saucy chica with flowing black locks and legs for days is actually talking to him.

 

“I’m… I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

 

She bites her bottom lip and purrs as she sidles up to him, sliding one thin arm around his waist. “I think you heard me,  _ papi _ ,” she breathes against his neck, making his skin pop with goosebumps and his cock drool like Pavlov himself had trained it.

 

Jensen casts his eyes to the side, looking for his teammates.  _ There’s no protocol for what to do when a hot woman hits on you _ , he thinks, desperate for someone to come to his aid. Pooch, the bastard, has backed away with a gleeful grin, hands in the air like he wants no part of this. Cougar’s eyes glitter with amusement from underneath his hat as he follows Pooch’s lead. 

 

Jensen’s throat is dry and it clicks when he tries to swallow. 

 

The girl -  _ woman - _ is still eyeing him up and down like she likes what she sees. “Wanna go somewhere a little quieter? Maybe I’ll actually get to hear you say something.” Even her giggle is calculated, seductive, obviously a manipulation, but he sure as shit ain’t turning her down. He’ll take anything that’s on offer, cross his heart and hope to die.

 

“Um… yes?” he tries, and breathes a sigh of relief when she just unwraps her arm from around his waist, grabs his sweaty hand, and leads him out of the bar. Screw his teammates and their laughter, at least he’s getting laid tonight.

 

She somehow manages to both lead and follow Jensen to his rented room here in… Colombia, he thinks - most of his blood has traveled south and left the rest of him bereft of any CPU - but by the time he’s gotten the woman in his room, she’s completely in control. His knees are hitting the bed frame within seconds of their entry and she’s pushing him down and sitting astride his lap. He thrusts up blindly and without finesse, feeling like a fourteen-year-old on his first real date, the one where he scores second base or third base or maybe, hopefully, puts a big red  _ one _ on the board. 

 

It’s been too fucking long. That’s his excuse and he’s sticking to it.

 

She’s got his jeans off and his cock in hand within another few seconds, and _ man alive _ it’s like all synapses are firing simultaneously, neurotransmitters working in overdrive to make sure he doesn’t die in his late twenties of a fucking heart attack.

 

“ _ Papi _ ,” she whispers as she leans down, silky hair tickling his face and neck, “let me show you a thing or two,  _ si _ ? Seems like you have some lessons to learn.”

 

Jensen opens his mouth to protest - he’s not  _ actually _ a virgin, _ thank you very much _ \- but thinks better of it when she scoots down to take his cock in her mouth. It’s hot and it’s wet and that heart attack’s a 50/50 shot and climbing by the time she pulls off with a  _ pop _ . The noise that comes from deep in his chest is utterly pathetic. Fourteen-year-old-boy levels of pathetic.

 

“It’s okay,  _ papi _ , I’m gonna take good care of you. Just trust me.” 

 

Then she pulls a fucking pair of  _ handcuffs  _ \- real steel cuffs, the kind you’d find in a police station instead of a sex store - out of her back pocket and dangles them in front of his face. Jensen can’t even squeak his consent, he wants it so badly, but judging by the gleam in her eye she knows that. He just nods and raises his hands to the bedposts, trying to catch his breath.

 

He closes his eyes in bliss as she takes him to town, giving him the best blowjob he’s ever experienced, edging him over and over again until he’s utterly incoherent - a rarity in the life of Jacob Jensen. He could bottle the noises coming out of his mouth, analyze them, and create a new language of love, it is  _ that fucking good. _

 

He’s close to the edge yet again, looking forward to the inevitable, powerful release, when she pulls off and starts  _ backing away toward the door.  _

 

“Hey, uh… where are you going?” he pants, the slightly panicked tone at odds with the ridiculous amount of precome painting his abs and the diamond-hardness of his cock. 

 

She gives him a smug grin, one that reminds him uncomfortably of Cougar after he’s won -  _ cheated _ \- a round of Texas Hold ‘Em. “Sorry,  _ papi _ … won my bet and it’s time to go collect.”

 

Jensen throws back his head and groans, cursing his luck. What the hell did he ever do to deserve this? 

 

“Could you at least, y’know… finish? Before you leave me. Like this. Stuck.”

 

She licks her lips, considers him for a moment, then shakes her head sadly. Jensen thinks she’s a damn good actress. He’d hire her in a heartbeat if he were a casting director. Porn or action flick, either way. 

 

“Sorry,  _ papi. _ Maybe my friend will come finish you off if she doesn’t want to pay. Don’t stay  _ up _ too late thinking of me,” she adds with a pointed look at Little Jensen, who has not yet gotten the memo that this is over. _ Fini. _ Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

 

The first curses to leave his lips are so absurd, they’re almost nonsensical, ever more colorful strings of words that don’t even come close to covering how very frustrated he is. It takes him awhile, in true Jensen fashion, to work through it, but by the time he hears the light tread of combat boots in the hall, his speech has devolved into the Spongebob theme song as he fights boredom by putting every episode in chronological order. 

 

Cougar - because of course it’d be Cougar, his secret longing, his moon-and-stars, and no, he’d never say that out loud in a million years, not even under truth serum - Cougar picks the lock silently and comes to stand by Jensen’s bed. His eyes roam Jensen’s body, twinkling when he catches sight of the crusted remains of precome. 

 

“I have the worst case of blue balls in the history of ever,” Jensen informs him conversationally, because really, there’s no point in admitting to the depth of his embarrassment here. “So unless you’d like to help me out, which I’m not saying no to, mind you” -  _ okay, maybe add a little more filter here, Jake _ \- “could you please get these damn cuffs off me?”

 

Cougar snorts -  _ of course, but the question is will I? _ \- and produces the  _ actual _ key to the  _ actual _ lock. 

 

“How the hell did you…?” 

 

“You’ll see,” Cougar says cryptically, and pulls Jensen to his feet. He politely looks away as Jensen pulls up his boxers - fire trucks, a classic - and stretches his back. 

 

“How long have I been in here?” he asks as Cougar leads the way out and down the hall.

 

“Couple hours.”

 

“Why did you… How did you? I mean, did you know I was like that and you left me in there? Or how did you figure it out? I’m so confused.”

 

“Cougar does not tell his secrets.”

 

“Cougar does not… please don’t be like Pooch. Referring to yourself in third person is not cool. You’re too cool for that.”

 

Cougar merely raises an eyebrow and keeps walking. Jensen reads fluent Cougar, so he gets  _ you’re not one to talk _ as clearly as though the sniper had said it aloud.

 

“Fine, but are you at least going to explain this whole… this whole mess?”

 

Cougar just nods at the open door they’re approaching, an anonymous room in a hotel full of anonymous rooms. Jensen takes the invitation and waltzes in to find two smokin’ hot babes in bras and panties tied to chairs. One of them is his (current) least favorite woman in the world.

 

“Okay, this is weird,” he states. 

 

“They made a bet.” Cougar shrugs as though that sheds any light on the situation.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it was just for fun. We knew you’d come find him in the morning,” his erstwhile lover says. Her friend pleads in rapid Spanish, too fast for Jake to keep up. Cougar snaps back just as quickly, causing the color to drain from the girl’s face.

 

“Now Cougs, that’s not nice.”

 

“You don’t even know what I said,” Cougar points out.

 

“Please, it was just for fun,” the woman repeats like a broken record. “I’ll even finish you off, just let me go. I’m good for it, I promise.”

 

“No. We take the money you bet. Then you leave this hotel,” Cougar tells them.

 

Both girls nod frantically and give him all the money in their packs before they even put on clothes. Cougar settles against the ancient pressed wooden dresser, overseeing the girls’ hasty exit. He holds out a hand for their keycards, which they give him before he even has to say a word. Within two minutes, they’re gone.

 

“I am still so confused,” Jensen says. “What the hell just happened? What did they even bet on? How did you even  _ do  _ that?”

 

“Cougar does not tell his secrets.”

 

“I really hope you guys weren’t pranking me.”

 

The sniper purses his lips and stares at Jake, who folds in on himself a little. 

 

“Go to bed, _ idiota _ . I just hope you learned a lesson from this.”

 

***

 

Lessons Jensen has learned from this mission:

 

  1. Never let strange girls tie you to the bedpost; 
  2. Never underestimate Cougar.



 

***

 

Much to Jensen’s dismay, he occasionally has a reason to test what he’s learned. He’s proud of himself whenever the lessons stick, whether they’re small (stop biting your nails because you never know when you’ll have your hand in a horse’s ass again), large (don’t distract Clay with trivia in the middle of hostage negotiation or he’ll get shot, you fucking moron), or somewhere in between (see: spontaneous bondage). 

 

But does it really count as a failure if his boss sends him on an impossible assignment?

 

No. No, it does not, in Jensen’s extremely biased opinion. Especially not when Clay sends him, Jacob Andrew Jensen, on a  _ honeypot mission _ . It is the Worst. Idea. Ever.

 

“This is the craziest damn scheme you’ve ever come up with.”

 

Jensen vigorously nods his head, indicating that yes, Roque is right for once. Somewhere between the occasional line of blow and the absurd number of concussions received from thrown punches, their commanding officer had lost his marbles.

 

“Dude.  _ Dude _ . Even I know I’m not cut out for this. Have you seen me try to flirt? I look like a virginal twelve-year old boy.”

 

Pooch stops nodding his head to give Jensen some side-eye. “I’m a little worried you had to add the ‘virginal’ qualifier to that sentence, Jay. That ain’t normal.”

 

“Did you know that in some parts of the United States, it’s legal to marry off your fourteen-year old daughter to a grown man?”

 

“... What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“I’m just sayin’, normal is in the eye of the beholder.”

 

Clay snaps his fingers. It’s not loud, but it’s Clay doing it, which means the whistle is coming next. Jensen hates the whistle so he shuts up. 

 

“Horrifying trivia and terrible flirting skills aside, you’re the best man for the job,” Clay tells him, all no-nonsense and stern. Jensen kind of hates him in general, now that he thinks about it. “Your personal life is different. I’ve seen you act. You’re young, you’re handsome, you’re her type. It’s the perfect setup.”

 

Pooch opens his mouth, probably to object to Jensen’s purported handsomeness -  _ eat that, Linwood _ \- but Clay holds up a finger and stops him in his tracks. 

 

“No more arguing. Jensen, get fitted for a suit.”

 

That’s how Jensen finds himself in an old-timey ballroom in an old-timey hotel that smells like it hasn’t been dusted since the seventeenth century, on the lookout for a certain heiress to a certain fortune involving certain illegal funds in  _ Khazakhstan _ , of all places. Who hides money in Khazakhstan? Monte Carlo is a much better choice for the rich and selfish to stash their ill-gotten gains. Not to mention better weather and hotter babes.

 

As if she’d been summoned by  _ hotter babes _ , the mark approaches him, making her way on five-inch heels up the steep stairs to the balcony. She notices him staring and smiles demurely, face a pretty shade of pink. Jensen has to admit, he does clean up well. She’s taken the bait not fifteen minutes since he’d arrived.

 

“Alright, Jake, you can do this,” he says to himself, hearing Pooch’s snicker over his comm. The whole team is patched in, monitoring the situation even as they move into position to cover him. They need her fingerprint and retinal scan to enter her suite. Clay has assured him that their intel is good; he’ll be in and out in two minutes, and Jensen will only have to prick her finger for the drug to knock her out. She’ll wake up in the morning with a killer headache and no memory of the previous twenty-four hours.

 

He will not be required to go any further than a little making out. Just get in, play a little tonsil hockey, stick her with something much sharper than she’d like, get the data file, get out. 

 

Not that he’d mind having sex, necessarily. She’s fucking  _ hot. _

 

He settles into the role as though it were made for him, inwardly cursing his acting skills. Do girls only want fakes and not the genuine article? Sure feels that way sometimes.  

 

Maybe he’s _ too  _ good an actor, because she’s got her arm wrapped around his like she’s claimed a prime slab of beef. No matter how good Jensen looks in this suit - and he looks damn good - she shouldn’t be jumping his dick this quickly. It’s reminding him uncomfortably of a bar in Colombia.

 

She drags him away from the party and into her suite before he can blink, Clay cussing up a storm in his ear. The team is far from ready to follow him or prepare for shit to go sideways, but here he is, getting tongue-fucked and pushed down on the bed by the woman  _ he’s _ supposed to be seducing. At _ his  _ pace. Like a professional. Which he is clearly not because he’s  _ forgotten the needle in his jacket pocket _ . The jacket she’s thrown unceremoniously to the other side of the room.

 

Okay, so: he’s surprisingly good at seduction, but he is  _ not _ good at stopping it once it’s started. 

 

Good to know.

 

“You’re a black ops soldier in the United States Army, trained in espionage, recon, and combat, and you can’t handle stalling this girl for  _ five more fucking minutes _ ?” Clay spews in his ear. 

 

_ It’s not like I’m gonna roundhouse kick her in her face, boss _ , Jensen thinks.  _ Fucksakes, this was my only shot. I was obviously the wrong choice for this. _

 

God, he  _ hates _ it when he can’t talk back.

 

The team’s voices buzz like a swarm of flies in his ear while they try to think of a Plan C - because Plan B involved what to do if Jensen couldn’t get her in the room at all,  _ thanks for believing in me, guys _ \- and it’s irritating. She’s packing - that’s definitely a gun on her nightstand. In this position, she’d beat him to it if he tried to lunge for either it or his suit. So for the moment, there is nothing he can do but wait on them to come up with something, and he’s going to enjoy this while it lasts. Hell, maybe even get laid. Might as fucking well.

 

He’s so wrapped up in the moment that he fails to notice the restraints until it’s too late, even though the light from the bedroom window glints blindingly off cold steel.

 

“Whoa! Hey, what is this?” he asks, alarmed as he finds himself once again incapacitated. Such a rookie mistake that he’s made twice now. 

 

_ So much for that lesson. Lasted all of two months. _

 

She climbs on top of Jensen, grinding against his erection, before leaning close to whisper, “I’m gonna ride you like a cowboy.”

 

_ Cougar makes a much better cowboy. You should ride him instead. _

 

That thought is followed closely by  _ Don’t you dare. Cougar’s mine. _

 

Is it a good or bad thing that he’s thinking about riding Cougar right now? After all, there’s a hot woman grinding on him. It’s kinda rude. But then…  _ hello _ , Little Jensen.

 

“Okay,” he says out loud, because his dick is all in at this point and Jensen is not known for making good decisions when his dick is all in.

 

He’s two seconds from sliding into her when the dart hits her in the arm. Her eyes immediately roll in the back of her head and she slumps down on his chest. 

 

Jensen’s not sure whether he feels relief or disappointment. On the one hand, he didn’t have to have sex with his mark. On the other hand, he didn’t  _ get _ to have sex with his mark. This whole being in love with his teammate thing is very confusing. 

 

“Okay. First of all, thank you, Cougar. I don’t know how you made that shot through the window. You’re fucking amazing, you know that? God, she’s heavy. Can someone get her off me? I’d really like to get up now. That’d be great.”

 

“Well, you fucked up, so no. Not yet,” Clay says. If Jensen didn’t know better, he’d think that was pure glee in his voice. “Cover your ears, boys, this is gonna be a loud one.”

 

“What? I don’t - “

 

The fire alarm blares. It’s loud. Like, shotgun-in-your-ear loud. Like tinnitus-train-coming-into-the-station loud. Jensen has a moment to wonder why the fuck Clay would choose to do such a thing to him, his poor, loyal hacker, before he hears the faint click of the lock, opening automatically for the safety of its occupants.

 

Oh.

 

“Brilliant, you’re fucking brilliant, but chrissakes can you undo me before my ears start bleeding?”

 

“Jesus Christ, Jensen, I didn’t know you were naked!” Pooch yells, covering his eyes and nearly tripping over the bed in his quest to untie Jensen’s bonds without looking directly at his cock. Clay passes down the hall, heading toward the safe and the thing that’s supposed to be happening.

 

This is  _ definitely _ not supposed to be happening.

 

“You’ve been on comms this whole time. What the hell did you expect?”

 

“I thought you were still clothed! No one told me. Cougar didn’t tell me she’d already stripped you down. Cougar, fuck you, you fucking asshole.”

 

A snort over the comm is his answer. Cougar’s good like that. 

 

“Wanna know something funny? This isn’t even the first time Cougar’s caught me like this,” Jensen informs Pooch as he unlocks the cuffs.

 

“The Pooch does not need to know about this. The Pooch does not  _ want _ to know about this.”

 

Jensen rubs his wrists together - those cuffs were tight as hell. “Just get me out of here. I promise you won’t have to look at my penis ever again.”

 

“Deal.”

 

***

 

“Do I just look like the type of guy who likes to be tied down? Is that a thing? Maybe they see the size of my dick and get scared. Yeah. That’s it. They’re intimidated by the size of my dick.”

 

“I wish you wouldn’t say shit like that,” Pooch groans, lips twisted up in disgust. The fancy limo they’re taking from the party swerves. Pooch must be highly alarmed at the possibility of Jensen’s dick being intimidatingly big. “I do not need to be thinking about your dick. If I never heard another word about your dick in my whole life, it’d be too damn soon. Besides, you fucking  _ promised. _ ”

 

Jake shrugs, because who cares what Pooch thinks? Jake has an awesome dick.

 

“I promised you wouldn’t have to  _ look  _ at it. Not the same thing.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Cougar watching him. His face is as impassive as ever, but amusement rolls off of him in waves. 

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” 

 

“That’s a lie. Your lips did the thing.”

 

Cougar remains silent, continuing to watch Jake.

 

“Cougs, c’mon, man. Share with the class.”

 

He pretends to think about it, then looks at Jensen with false pity, the sarcastic asshole. “No.”

 

Pooch snorts from the driver’s seat. “Oh no, now you’ve  _ gotta  _ tell us.”

 

“This is not something I want to hear, is it?” Roque grumbles. He pulls a knife - a huge knife, holy shit - seemingly from his asshole and starts sharpening it.

 

“C’mo _ oooon _ ,” Jensen begs. 

 

“You are  _ definitely _ that type of guy,” Cougar informs him with a  _ what can you do _ shrug. 

 

They all agree, and even Roque laughs at him. 

 

Bunch of assholes.

  
  


***

 

Lessons Jensen has learned from this mission:

 

  1. You can actually pick up girls. Don’t let Pooch tell you otherwise;
  2. You need better coping skills for your jealousy, because mid-sex is not the time to be thinking about how Cougar belongs to you;
  3. Never let strange girls tie you to the bedpost; 
  4. Never underestimate Cougar.



  
  


***

 

Even when Jensen’s attempts at self-education are more successful than expected, leading to missions that, for once, don’t go FUBAR because of him, jobs still have a tendency to crash and burn. Much like a cheap hooker on meth, it seems to be a theme for the Losers. Jensen sometimes wonders why he bothers.

 

“I’m in.”

 

“Good job. Roque and I are done here. On the way to the rendezvous point.”

 

“Y’know,” Jensen says all casual-like, “I feel like a little more appreciation is in order. I like high quality chocolate and fancy bottles of tequila. You know, if anyone’s asking.”

 

“They’re not,” Pooch informs him, breathing heavily into his comm unit.

 

“I’m hurt, Pooch, you heartless fucker.”

 

“I’ll buy you a muzzle,” Roque offers. Cougar, the traitor, grunts his agreement.

 

“Fine. See if I don’t just leave you to rot down there.”

 

“Captain,” Clay warns, and yeah - he sees it. The little red dots on his screen blink manically, tracking his teammates through the schematic. A real-time strategy game at his fingertips, better than any video game could ever be because this one will result in an explosion. Maybe he’ll call it ‘Cocaine Rain.’ Or maybe not - he’s still working on the title. 

 

But Jensen also wishes, not for the first time, that he could physically see them as they make their way through the warehouse instead of using this (admittedly brilliant - he designed it himself) computer program. He likes the challenge, but as the infinitely wise Eminem once said,  _ life is no Nintendo game _ . That’s his family down there. Even Roque and especially Cougar. It’s his job to keep them safe, and nothing is better than eyes on the target.

 

“So,” Jensen starts, “I have bad news. I’m not gonna be able to crack that lock remotely without more time than we have.”

 

“Can you get down here?” Clay asks, knowing full well the answer is  _ no _ .

 

“I’d be there already if it was an option.”

 

“We’ve got incoming,” Cougar mutters, using up a full quarter of his mission word quota. Usually it’s just grunts or the occasional ‘no, boss’ or ‘yes, boss’ from him.

 

“I hate this fucking warehouse,” Clay mutters. “Pooch, you got transport ready?”

 

“Uh… that’s a negative, Colonel. They’re swarming the exit, waiting on you. Somethin’ must’ve tipped ‘em off. I had to hide on the roof with Cougar. Maybe the back of the building, opposite corner? I’ll get it squared if I can, but… no promises. At least they don’t know I’m here yet.”

 

“Cougar?”

 

“Boss,” Cougar acknowledges. “No shot.” Which means Cougs and Pooch are out of the game unless they can separate some of these gang-bangers from the rest.

 

“Place is set to blow,” Roque reminds them, as though they’d forgotten what they do for a living in the last ten minutes. “We gotta get outta here and send this place sky high before they can salvage any of this shit.”

 

Privately, Jensen wonders if Clay will be sad when they blow the joint. Blow the blow,  _ ha _ ! All that pretty white powder, pure as a baby’s bottom… or whatever. His comparisons need some work today. Point is, Clay’s gotta at least give the crater they’ll leave behind a wistful backward glance. 

 

But it’s more important that these animals are put out of business for good, before any more innocent young people are forced into the cartel, and Clay is nothing if not loyal to the cause. The war on drugs is as stupid as DADT, as far as Jensen’s concerned. Why can’t people just live and let live? Then they wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.

 

DADT gets him thinking about Cougar, and the looks he occasionally catches from the corner of his eye. It takes a lot of work to catch Cougar doing anything he doesn’t want anyone knowing about, but Jake’s pretty sure he’s not imagining things. His Cougar sense tingles more often than ever before, especially after the whole honeypot incident. And the thing in Colombia before that. And that time he nearly beat that guy’s face in for shooting the sniper. 

 

Jensen’s glad he’s able to let several threads run through his brain at once, especially because thinking about Cougar is one of his favorite hobbies. Anyone else would find it chaotic, but it actually helps clear his head. Uses more RAM, but helps avoid interference. He’s a machine.

 

“I’m a  _ machine _ .”

 

“Does this machine have any brilliant ideas?” Clay asks with a sigh. 

 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Jensen says, adrenaline pumping now that the show has moved beyond Go Time and into Die Hard territory. Jensen ain’t too old for this shit. He’s got this. He forces a deep breath, just like Cougar taught him, before telling them the plan. Otherwise, he might talk so fast they wouldn’t be able to follow him. 

 

“Creating a diversion. The auto turrets won’t turn out without their authorization; I don’t have it. But! I can make it look like it’s thinking. They’ll scatter for long enough for us to get out of here. Hopefully.” He types in a command code before grabbing his gear and running as fast as possible through the deserted offices on the top floor of the warehouse. “Southwest entrance. Double back. You have five minutes. Gate will open for thirty seconds. If you’re not out by then, odds are good you’ll end up dumped in an unmarked grave.”

 

Brilliant. Now he just has to channel his inner Pooch.

 

Five minutes later, he’s drifting into the alleyway behind the warehouse after stealing the most heinous-looking vehicle he’s ever seen in his life. Pooch has gotten them out of some hairy situations with some even hairier rides, but this has gotta top the list. 

 

It’s the best car  _ ever. _

 

Pooch climbs down from the roof and jumps into the backseat while Jensen’s foot’s still on the gas. 

 

“Okay, first of all, you should not be driving this thing. Nobody should be driving this thing, not even me. It’s held together with duct tape and broken dreams. How the hell is everyone gonna fit in here?”

 

Jensen ignores him. “Where’s Cougar?”

 

“Ran off.”

 

“Without letting anyone in on where he was going?”

 

Pooch shrugs. “Not the first time he’s done that. Guy’s named after a cat for a reason. He’ll come around soon. I’m sure he’s got something up his sleeve.”

 

Jensen’s not so convinced, but there’s no time to worry about it now. He just sends a quick but heartfelt prayer to Cougar’s God to keep him safe.

 

Right on time, Roque and Clay throw the southwest entrance gate open and hop in, Roque crowding Pooch in the backseat. They both curse under their breath as Jensen guns the engine again, taking a straight shot through the alley and down a side street. Away from the assholes with guns. Jensen’s a fucking badass.

 

“What the hell is this car?” Clay asks even as he braces himself against Jensen’s awesome driving. 

 

“I don’t even know!” he replies with delight. “I call it the ‘Purple People Eater.’ What do you think?”

 

“I think you’re a fucking moron. Those people know where we are. They have eyes and security cameras, and we are in a  _ purple jalopy _ riding in their home turf. What the fuck were you thinking?”

 

“Seriously? This is the thanks I get for saving your asses?”

 

“We’re not out of trouble yet.”

 

“Sure we are - “

 

The first shot takes out the back window, which had already been cracked. Probably from a previous shooting, knowing this neighborhood. Jensen glances out the rearview mirror and sees a black F-350 chock full of cartel members waving around guns that are so heavily modified they can’t even be legal in a zombie apocalypse. If they’re caught, they are going to be  _ so fucked. _

 

The cartel members manage to land a few hits to the car’s dented surface, little  _ pings _ that make Jensen’s anxiety sing louder than a fat lady at the opera, but their apricots are safe so far. That’s not the main problem, anyway - this old beat up thing can do about fifty, tops, and the truck is gaining on them fast. 

 

Just when Jensen is about to admit that he should’ve let Pooch figure out the transportation thing - which is not true, he knows he made the right call, he  _ knows _ he did, if for no other reason than that it was his only play - well, mostly his only play; the other would’ve been about the same - he catches the flash of a scope off one of the abandoned factories on the left side of the street up ahead. 

 

_ Cougar, you fucking ninja _ , he thinks, and whoops with glee as two shots fly true. In the space of a second, the sniper’s laid waste to the truck’s front tires. Just like that, Cougar’s saved their asses from torture (most likely) and execution (definitely). 

 

And then Jensen looks in the mirror at Roque, who is wearing the most terrifying grin he’s ever seen. Roque lifts the detonator for everyone to see before pressing the button. Behind them, the building explodes in a most gratifying fireball. 

 

“ _ Yes _ ! That was fucking _ amazing _ ! Roque… Cougar, you glorious bastards. Best day  _ ever!” _

 

“You’re still on comms,” Clay reminds him. “No names.”

 

“You’re not my real dad,” he mutters under his breath, earning an irritated glare from his CO. “Anyway, are you gonna come out of hiding, kitty kitty?”

 

That earns him a new kind of stare… from everyone in the car. 

 

Cougar rolls with it, though. “Sure,  _ amigo _ . Can you pick me up now?”

 

“Cougs! Fashionably late but impeccable timing. You’re my favorite person.”

 

The sniper says nothing, but Jensen knows he’s rolling his eyes. He steadfastly ignores the increasingly confused, concerned, and awkward stares from everyone else.

 

“Still quite an entrance. Worth the wait. 11/10, would definitely recommend. Excellent show. Deserves an Oscar.”

 

“Jensen, shut up,” Clay says - off comms, of course, because someone is a blowhard who plays by the book - but he’d long ago resigned himself to the fact that Jensen isn’t going to shut up for another few hours. It’s his way of working through the adrenaline crash, like Cougar’s compulsive rifle cleaning or Roque’s habit of throwing knives at innocent trees that, frankly, deserve better.

 

He’s ecstatic to see Cougar in one piece when they pick him up, smiling brightly like a moron and outright giggling when Cougar has to sit on Pooch’s lap to fit in the dilapidated car. They trade vehicles as soon as it’s feasible - Clay wasn’t wrong when he said this was the dumbest getaway vehicle he could’ve found, though to be fair, he’d had little choice. This time, he lets Pooch take the wheel. The rest of the guys breathe a sigh of relief at that, but Jensen knows he’s done well.  _ Take that, Pooch. _

 

Hours later, when they’re at the safehouse and things (read: Jake) have calmed down, Jensen asks his roommate, best friend, and secret-or-maybe-not-so-secret love how he pulled off the rescue. 

 

Cougar, whose beauty appears otherworldly in the twilight bleeding through the gauze curtains, gives him an unreadable look. “Cougar does not tell his secrets.”

 

Jensen just lies down on his cot, a few feet and yet so far away from the sniper it might as well be the other side of the world. God, he  _ wants _ . He always does, but watching Cougar fuck up that truck full of assholes and shrug it off like it was a normal Tuesday’s gotten him yearning like a teenage boy yet again. He meets Cougar’s level stare silently for a few moments, sure his frustration and desire and fucking too-big-for-his-body heart shine through his eyes.

 

“You’re gonna tell me someday, right?” he finally asks.

 

The skin around Cougar’s eyes crinkles minutely, but Jensen is an expert in Cougar-speak. He knows what it means.

 

_ Si _ .  _ Someday. _

 

***

 

Lessons Jensen has learned from this mission:

  1. You can totally do Pooch’s job, don’t let him tell you otherwise;
  2. A purple jalopy is NOT an acceptable getaway car _when there is a beige Nissan Sentra right next to it_ ;
  3. Add ‘competence’ to your ever-growing list of kinks;
  4. Never underestimate Cougar.



  
  


***

 

Jensen’s shenanigans both in the field and otherwise are legendary amongst the team, but it’s not like he does these things for their benefit. He just has, as Jess used to say, a bit more of the ‘derp’ in him than most people do. He’d get mad at her when he was young, scoff at her when he was older, but privately, he’d always agreed with her. He doesn’t have a great track record of thinking normal, everyday decisions through even when they don’t involve his dick - see: purple jalopies - but add his dick into the equation and you’ve got an instant minus fifty to Jensen’s IQ. The only reason said member doesn’t just lead him straight into the walls is that his IQ is considerable to start with.

 

But the thing is, life in a safehouse is no fun. It’s embarrassing - nobody needs to be that familiar with their Army buddies’ bowel movements. It’s frustrating, for Jensen at least, because Cougar is right there in close proximity, silent and brooding and more gorgeous than usual for all that, coiled like his namesake and ready to strike at the first opportunity. Furtively attempting to jerk it to a teammate while practically sleeping on top of said teammate is on his list of top five difficult things to do, and he runs from cartel douchebags for a living.

 

But most of all, it’s _ boring _ . Especially when they’re in the middle of nowhere.  _ Especially _ especially when they’re in the middle of nowhere and Jensen  _ forgot the lube.  _

 

He rubs his hands together and prepares to get creative.

 

***

 

Jensen’s three minutes into his usual morning bathroom routine when his mouth makes a sound not unlike that of a stuck pig at the world’s most unethical slaughterhouse. He’s jumping in circles and hyperventilating in between bouts of outright squealing when it occurs to him that the team is in the same house, they’re probably all sleeping (or were), and will shortly be in to discover what the hell has gotten into him. 

 

And he’s going to have to come up with an explanation for this particular… whatever-this-is.

 

Now, the Losers have all been through a bit of blood-related panic in their day. They’ve all been shot and stabbed at least once, and Jake’s pretty sure Roque masturbates with his knives somehow, which is  _ okay, nothing he needs to know or think about in particular, thanks brain _ , but to his knowledge, no one has discovered their  _ asshole bleeding. _

 

Jensen slaps his hand over his mouth as he reaches for the toilet paper to clean himself better - thank heavens he sleeps commando, since there’s no messy underwear for him to deal with on top of his poor backside. He wracks his brain through last night: what the hell did he  _ do _ ? Was he kidnapped in the middle of the night and passed around like a trophy amongst pirates on the high seas? Did the government perform some strange experiment on him? What the hell could’ve happened that led to…  _ this _ ? 

 

Let’s see… tequila?  _ Check _ . 

 

Empty house?  _ Check. _

 

Boredom?  _ X out the whole fucking page. _

 

Missing Cougar? …  _ let’s not go there. _

 

What else? 

 

It’s then that he realizes there are tiny black seeds in the blood gooped between his ass cheeks, and before additional panic can creep in -  _ no, Jensen, the government didn’t plant anything that can spread through your bowels, you fucking moron _ \- the memory comes to him. He’d spit those seeds out in disgust when he’d first opened the bottle yesterday, when he was in dire need of something other than MREs and crackers to eat.

 

It’s jam.

 

_ Strawberry _ jam.

 

He stuck  _ strawberry jam _ up his _ own ass _ in place of  _ actual lube _ because he was  _ that fucking desperate _ .

 

The team finds him on the floor - clean, because of course he’s not going to admit this particular embarrassment to anyone  _ ever _ \- laughing so hard, he can barely breathe. Clay kneels down, worried, to make sure he can still breathe and isn’t hysterical or in shock over a, a gunshot wound or a breakup - same thing, to Clay - or whatever Clay thinks makes other people go into shock, but it’s Cougar who grabs his shoulder and says  _ let him be. He’s fine.  _

 

He’s fine, alright. Fucking-A, right as rain, ready to kick-ass-and-take-names. Jensen was born for this shit, scaring the hell out of his friends in the name of poorly thought-out four a.m. masturbatory shenanigans. Might as well be his middle name. ‘Andrew’ was too boring anyway.

 

Definitely isn’t going to need to add this one to the yellow notebook a second time, though.

 

He performs the remainder of his daily ablutions in peace and is mostly put together when he arrives in the kitchen for - hooray, more MREs. Cougar’s in the pantry pulling out the jam and crackers, but…  _ nope, _ he’s not going in for seconds of that particular delicacy, thank-you-very-much.

 

“Jesus, you guys couldn’t have gotten some fucking real food while you were out yesterday?”

 

“We were on recon,” Clay tells him slowly, like he’s five. “A trip to the store is not an appropriate use of our time.”

 

“I mean, not during, but like, after? You know, it’s not like you were on recon from the second you stepped out the front door here.”

 

Pooch steps between them and puts his hands up. Jensen wants to  _ uhn-tss-uhn-tss-uhn-tss _ and drop the bass. “Look, we know it’s been a long stake-out. It’s almost over. Just please don’t go at each other’s throats until we’re back at base and I can stay out of it, okay?”

 

“Yes, mom,” Clay and Jake mutter in unison. 

 

A few seconds later, Jensen brings it up again, because look, this really fucking sucks. “Are you sure we can’t go into town for like… bread? I mean, nobody’s gonna look at you sideways for getting bread, right? People in this area of the world eat it, right?” He gives them all his best puppy-dog eyes, which predictably do not work on anyone except Pooch. 

 

“Soon, Jay, I promise. We’ll have a nice steak dinner. I’ll even pay if it means it shuts your ugly ass up.”

 

“Hey, I am not ugly, and neither is my ass!”

 

It’s then that Jensen glances over to the cupboard and realizes that Cougar has been watching him patiently for who-knows-how-long… no, not watching.  _ Waiting.  _

 

And the reason why becomes clear when Cougar pulls the butter knife covered in strawberry jam to his mouth and _ licks _ . This isn’t a yum-yum lick, the kind a kid would give a tasty treat, no. This is so far beyond G-rated it’s left that rating in the dust miles ago. And Cougar does it while staring sensually into Jensen’s wide, suddenly-dilated eyes. Cougar licks in slo-mo, too, painfully drawing out every second of this little porn scene, making love to the knife with his tongue. Not that Jake needed more than a millisecond to get fully hard with the way Cougar is looking at him. Cougar even  _ slurps up _ the last little bit of jam before placing the knife in the sink and cleaning his lips with his pink tongue. 

 

Clay and Roque notice that Jensen’s lost his mind again, gone completely catatonic this time, but seeing as this is a Wednesday morning and therefore normal, they shrug and go back to eating breakfast. Pooch knows something’s amiss, but when he looks toward Cougar, to his mouth where Jensen physically could not stop staring even if someone blinded him in that moment, all he sees is their sniper wearing a grin like the cat that got the cream. He, too, shrugs and goes back to his breakfast. 

 

Jensen opens his mouth to speak, to ask maybe  _ Did anybody else see that?  _ Or  _ Have I officially lost it? _ Or maybe  _ Cougar, you’re a bad kitty _ ! But all that comes out is a puff of air as Cougar shakes his head once, curtly.  _ Not here. _

 

Jensen just swallows and nods, then shoves the rest of his MRE down his gullet in some kind of daze. Maybe he  _ is _ the type to let someone hot tie him to the bed and have their way with him, because at this moment, he wants to shout on the rooftop how fucking excited and nervous and  _ rock fucking hard _ he is, but he keeps his mouth shut. Cougar could eat  _ him _ for breakfast right now and all he’d be able to do is take it.

 

***

  
  


Lessons Jensen has learned from this mission:

  1. Never use strawberry jam as a last-minute lubricant no matter how desperate you are.
  2. Seriously. Never use anything but _lube made to lubricate someone’s asshole._
  3. Seriously, Jensen. 
  4. Oh, and never underestimate Cougar.



  
  


***

  
  


After the Incident With The Jam, there’s no time. They get the call fifteen minutes after breakfast - recon was successful for once, curse Jensen’s damn luck - and it’s a two-week mission in another goddamn jungle before they get unstuck from each others’ ass hairs. (Jensen only wishes that was mostly a figure of speech). 

 

But even on the trip back to base and during debrief, all he gets from Cougar are winks or shushing fingers. Cougar’s toying with his goddamn emotions, and the worst part is, no one else even seems to see it. If he told the other three, they’d look sideways at Jake, see Cougar’s  _ I don’t know, man _ shrug, and call him a loon. Like usual. 

 

They get leave right after debriefing from Operation Butt Jam, and of course, everybody’s got plans except Jensen. Pooch is off to see Jolene, his fiance, Roque to go… stab some motherfuckers? Who knows? And Clay to probably  _ get _ stabbed by his date. Hopefully after he’s gotten laid, at least, but Jensen doesn’t particularly care one way or the other, as long as his boss comes back in (mostly) one piece.

 

They’re all gone, and Cougar’s nearly out the door on his way to Mexico when Jensen grabs him by the hoodie and throws him backward into the wall of their barracks. Cougar merely raises an eyebrow, face otherwise remaining passive even as Jensen gets up in it.

 

“What are you playing at, Alvarez?” 

 

Cougar’s face doesn’t move a centimeter, which only makes Jensen want to curse the man. If he hadn’t been so well-versed in Cougar-speak, he’d have missed the flash of amusement in his eyes as Jake bore down on him.

 

Jake growls. “I’m only asking you this one more time, Cougar - “

 

“Or what?” Cougar asks, quiet like a mouse, but Jake snaps his jaw shut like it’d been drawn tight anyway.

 

Before he knows it, Jensen’s back is against the wall - how did Cougar  _ do _ that? - and his clothes are being removed. It’s all slo-mo again, anticipation rising in Jensen like a wave. Miles from shore but bound to break high overhead.

 

“What’re you… Cougs, Cougs, I don’t understand.”

 

Cougar snorts as he forces Jensen’s hands over his head, removing his tee and undershirt all at once. “You say that a lot, you know.”

 

“Well, that’s because you’re - “

 

“Amazing?  _ Increible? Si, mi cariño,  _ tell me all of it.”

 

Cougar captures Jensen’s mouth with a thorough kiss, driving the breath from his lungs and keeping it out until Jensen’s sure he’s going to lose consciousness. Cougar’s tongue is as soft as it is clever, licking his lips and finding its way inside, pulsing in a slow parody of what Cougar obviously wants to do to him.

 

“Jesus,” he pants when Cougar lets him suck in a breath. “You know I can’t stand to shut up, but good God, give me a chance to speak before you tongue-fuck me.”

 

Cougar pulls back and tweaks Jensen’s nipples, causing him to squirm and breathe even more harshly. “Had you quiet for almost three weeks, no?”

 

“Shut up. That’s, like, a record or something.”

 

Cougar makes a considering noise. “Maybe I’ll be running that experiment often, then.”

 

He does a great job for the next twenty minutes or so, because Jensen can barely draw breath, shirtless, back against the wall, erection tenting his pants painfully, and completely at Cougar’s mercy. Of which he does not possess much.

 

Cougar’s busy sucking the fifteenth or fiftieth hickey into Jensen’s neck - he’s stopped counting, focusing only on staying upright - when it occurs to him to ask.

 

“So… the jam?  _ Christ _ , Cougs… the jam? Did you know about the… the lube situation?”

 

Cougar stands up straight and rubs his nose against Jake’s, utterly adorable in the midst of all this sexed-out sexiness, and says, “That you used it, unsuccessfully, as lube?”

 

Jensen groans because  _ dammit _ , no one was ever supposed to know about that! “How did you know? Gonna tell me some of those amazing Cougar secrets now?”

 

“I am already, aren’t I?” Cougar asks before biting down on Jensen’s throat. 

 

“Showing me, more like, but yeah. Yeah, I see your point.  _ Christ _ . What about the kitchen? Did you mean that too?” The sniper makes a questioning noise. “Aww, Cougs, are you really gonna make me say it?”

 

Cougar steps in as close as possible, lining their cocks up inside their jeans, and breathes hot on Jensen’s ear. “ _ Si. _ Say it.”

 

Suddenly, all the spit in Jensen’s mouth has dried up. The intense way Cougar is looking at him now makes him want to drop to his knees. It takes him three attempts to actually get the words out.

 

“You… you want to… you want to…”

 

“Every. Inch.  _ Mi cariño _ .”

 

Jensen’s hips tighten up as he tries to hold himself together, but that is p _ hysically impossible  _ given the overload of endorphins his brain just dumped into his body at Cougar’s proclamation.

 

“I’ve never actually… done that, I mean, I’ve let people blow me, sure, but that,  _ that _ is another thing entirely…”

 

“Shut up, Jensen.”

 

He gulps and doesn’t say a single word, just closes his eyes to the sensation of Cougar’s lithe body moving against his, their cocks straining to be free as they rub against each other. It’s a bit like floating in a cloud, peaceful in a way his brain isn’t normally. This is what Cougar must feel like all the time. 

 

“You answer my questions?”

 

“Yes, anything. Whatever you need, Cougs, I’m your guy.”

 

A pinch to his left nipple leaves him gasping. 

 

“Shorter answers.”

 

“... Yes.”

 

“Good. Now: Walk or crawl?”

 

It takes Jensen a second to get what’s being asked of him, and when he does, his jaw drops halfway to the floor. “Are you seriously asking - “

 

Another pinch, this one to the other nipple and twice as mean. He gasps in a rough breath and focuses on keeping his feet. 

 

“Walk or crawl?” Cougar asks in that same commanding tone. 

 

“Crawl,” Jensen manages, before Cougar gently kicks his calves:  _ then get going _ . He slides down and gets to his hands and knees. Cougar walks behind him, watching the arch of his back as he slowly makes his way down the hall to their shared room. Whose bed will they do it in? He wouldn’t want to get Cougar’s all filthy, plus he’d get to sleep in Cougar’s bed with all the Cougar scents… definitely his bed then. Cougar steers him to the wall, though, this time so he’s facing it. 

 

“On your knees. Hands behind your back.”

 

Jensen does as he’s told without backtalk for once and soon finds himself with his hands tied. Cougar kneels behind him and strokes him, shoulders to hips and back again, murmuring soft Spanish words that Jensen doesn’t know but badly wants to learn. He cards his fingers through Jensen’s short, spiky hair and asks for Jensen’s safeword.

 

“ _ Ayúdame, _ ” Jensen whispers. He can feel Cougar startle behind him. “I heard you say it once,” he says in response to the unspoken question. “It almost broke me.”

 

Cougar lays his head on Jensen’s shoulder and stills, breathing quietly for several moments. Jensen just… sits there, letting his head remain empty, his body still, his soul Cougar’s. 

 

“ _ Te amo, _ Jake,” Cougar finally murmurs, pressing a soft kiss into Jake’s smooth skin. “Always.”

 

“Same,  _ Carlos _ , you have to know it’s the same for me.”

 

Cougar takes his time with Jensen. It takes a long while to get him to settle down and accept that he’s not in control any more, but it’s something Cougar’s damn good at. First, he takes him apart with his hands, then his tongue, and by the time Jensen’s on his stomach with three fingers in him, he’s putty in Cougar’s capable hands. Cougar fucks like he fights, too, all precision and accuracy and violence, and by the time Jensen’s back down to earth, his lover is ready for round two.

 

Jensen’s on his back with Cougar’s cock in his throat, hands tied at his chest now instead of his back when he remembers the crack about being ‘that kind of guy.’ And hell, if that means Cougar coming and coming and coming down his throat and making the most delicious noises ever, ones that only Jensen will ever get to hear? They can laugh at him all day and night if they want.

 

***

 

Lessons Jensen has learned from this mission:

  1. Yes, Cougar actually tastes like salted caramel.
  2. Never underestimate Cougar.



  
  


***

 

Cougar hears the door before Jensen does. He raises his head and puts his fingers to his lips:  _ shhh _ . Jensen’s eyebrows rise to the ceiling but he’s curious to see where this little show is going to go.

 

First, there’s rustling, then a noise of confusion followed by an exasperated groan. Right, Jake forgot his notebook on the kitchen table! Rookie mistake. 

 

Might not be a mistake, though, because as expected, Pooch walks in to quite a scene, cursing under his breath: Cougar wrapped like an octopus around Jake, both stark naked and bathed in sweat from their latest round of exertions. 

 

“What is this notebook, Jay? What are you - Fuck!  _ Fuck _ ! This had better be the last time I see you with your cock out! Christ, Jensen, I have sensitive eyeballs!”

 

Pooch swears, puts his hands up in front of his face, and turns around in an attempt to walk out of the room, but runs straight into the wall. Jensen doesn’t stop laughing for fifteen minutes.

 

“Let’s show him my cock again,” Jensen tells Cougar later. “For shits ‘n giggles.”

 

“No,  _ mijo. _ It’s all mine now,” Cougar growls, rolling him over and kissing him breathless all over again. “One time show.”

 

“Two time, technically.”

 

“Shut up, Jake.”

 

“Okay.” Jensen can live with that.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So funny story about the jam. My partner and I were discussing what Jensen could be using as lube when I suggested Cougar's gun oil, but then tossed the idea because nobody would be that stupid. Cue this conversation:
> 
> SO: Now how do you know it's a dumb idea?  
> Me: You're kidding, right? It's oil.  
> SO: No, we're gonna look this up. See, it says it's made of (polymer A, polymer B, glycerin, other things that won't kill you if they get in your mucous membranes)  
> SO: See? Won't kill you.  
> Me: *skeptical*  
> SO: Oh. Oh, nevermind. Turns out 'gun oil' is anal lubricant. 
> 
> And yes, I was right. Turns out actual gun oil is a bad idea, ladies and gentlemen. Anything other than anal lube is a bad idea, and this includes KY and Astroglide unless they're specially formulated. 
> 
> \- Love, your friendly neighborhood anal enthusiast


End file.
